


A Beginning

by yeaka



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora introduces her captain to new and wonderful things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: [The Captain](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/104342879555/maleficent-captain) has no name, so I’m going with John.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Maleficent or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Everything is better now. Safer, stronger, brighter—when he passes servants in the halls, they don’t look so miserable, beaten down, and one or two even smile at him. He finds himself smiling back for the first time in years. The permanent grey cloud that used to engulf the castle has dissipated in King Stefan’s absence, and Princess Aurora brings only goodness. When John inhales, the warm scent of bread from the kitchens below fills his lungs, and the air is crisp and sweet. He can sense her floral scent coming from down the corridor, and he still hasn’t determined if it’s perfume or just her natural, permanent aura. 

John stops at the foot of the spiral stairs, turning, his helmet tucked under his arm. He gives his princess a short bow of his head, though she’s never required formalities, and she’s beaming like she always is, lavender skirts kicking up around her as she hurries to reach him. Her sunshine hair seems to glisten in the light of the windows, and she’s laughing merrily before she’s even started talking. “Captain, I’m glad I’ve caught you!”

He inclines his head in respect as he answers, “I’m here to serve you, Your Highness.” Although, there isn’t much for him to do with his service anymore—the kingdom flourishes under her rule, and there seems little use for an army in her utopia. Having finished his shift on watch, he was only going to hang up his helmet and cape and sit down to make plans, reorganizing positions once again, now more putting soldiers to build and ferry and check in on farther citizens than anything else. Sooner or later, he’d like to send troops to aide the princess’ favourite lands in whatever way they can. 

He thinks this might be why she stopped him, for she’s glimmering with that excitement of news, but instead she tells him, “I wanted you to meet my godfather.” And he lifts an eyebrow, because he didn’t know she had one. Frankly, John has no idea how the young future-queen managed to grow up so bright and beautiful without any real parents so to speak, but then again, he knows she was better off away from King Stefan. Now she waves a hand to usher him with her, and she turns and bustles back down the hallway, John using long strides to keep up. He often enjoys the energy of her youth, although he knows he was never that lively, never that beautiful. 

The princess guides him around the end of the corridor, across another, and down a flight of steps. When they round the next corner, sweeping by the princess’ own room, they find a man standing in the corridor, waiting for them. He looks over at their approach, and John falters for half a step—it isn’t what he was expecting. 

The man is tall, dressed in a long, black overcoat with dark, loose clothes beneath, smoothed-back black hair and large, pure-black eyes. His skin is deathly pale, but the strangest things about him are the shapes, the little crosshatched patterns bracketing his eyes, the ridges along the line of his neck, and the point of his nose. He’s strikingly handsome, in a bizarre, otherworldly sort of way, and even odder, John gets a spike of _familiarity_ , as though he knows this man, although, of course he can’t; he’s sure he would remember such a creature. As they reach the man, stopping just before him, John is certain that this man comes from the Moors, for there are no humans this physically enthralling. 

While John’s still staring, Princess Aurora steps back to loop an arm under his, her delicate, pallid fingers so gentle against the smooth metal of his armour. “This is the man I wanted you to meet,” she chirps to the stranger, looking brightly up at John, who can only look back down in surprise. The other man’s face is an odd mix of confidence and sheepishness. “He was the captain of my father’s guards.”

“And the captain of yours, Your Highness,” John adds, and the princess laughs and nods.

“Of course. Captain, this is Diaval. He’s like my godfather.” Like. An odd arrangement, but then, so is everything around the princess. She gestures her free hand towards the stranger, Diaval, and then she continues easily, like discussing something no more uncommon than the weather, “He’s a friend of my stepmother’s. She turned him from a raven into a man, you see.”

Here John has to look down at her, face scrunching in confusion; she can’t really mean a _raven_. It’s a funny thing to say, especially given John’s own experience with ravens, or a single raven, perhaps. He’s often seen one around the castle, following him sometimes to his office, otherwise just listening to assemblies, occasionally checking in on the king. It never occurred to him, though, that a raven could be anything more than a bird. If the princess is speaking metaphorically or in jest, she must’ve forgotten the punch line, because it doesn’t come. 

John looks at Diaval, and the man gives something of an awkward bow, still and preoccupied. When he straightens up again, his eyes are piercingly sharp, and John lowers his head in a return of respect. Aurora pats John’s arms and continues, “The captain’s been a great deal of help to me in reorganizing the kingdom, now that the days of fighting are behind us.”

Diaval says, “I know.” Aurora simply continues to smile as though she figured as much.

Feeling distinctly left out of the loop, John clears his throat and politely asks, “Excuse me, but have we met before? You seem... familiar.”

Diaval’s eyes dart aside before he says, “I’m the raven that’s been... spying... on the castle.” And that confirms John’s wild suspicions and makes a strange amount of sense. When he looks into the depths of Diaval’s eyes, he thinks he can see the same unwavering stare in them he got from the raven that often perched on the corner of his desk. There’s something about Diaval’s hair, his clothes, even his colouring, that doesn’t seem so far away from a bird’s sleek feathers. Perhaps this ‘spying’ is the source of Diaval’s semi-shy behaviour, but John is also the servant to a greater master, and he imagines if their positions were reversed, he a soldier to the great Maleficent, he would use any ability to perch on the enemy’s doorstep. In a way, they both shared the same enemy all along. 

John’s so busy taking in Diaval that he almost forgot his princess—a difficult feat, for her radiance is awe-inspiring—until she untangles her arm from his and says, “Good. I thought you two might get along.” To John alone, she says, “Diaval needs more friends.”

Diaval’s white cheeks instantly fill with a dusty rose, and he splutters, leaning slightly forward, “I do not!”

She only laughs and says, “I mean it in a good way.” Then she lunges herself at him in a tight, warm hug that makes John almost jealous to watch. The love these people radiate is a sight their castle sorely needs. Diaval seems to melt around her, wrapping her in his own arms like a father might a daughter, and she is right that the two of them have an instant common ground; they both serve and adore this girl. When she detangles again, Diaval’s relaxed into a smile, and she both looks at him and half turns to John as she announces, “Anyway, I have to meet with my fairy godmother. Goodbye.” 

She gives half a curtsy, her movements exceptionally graceful for someone who grew up alone in the woods, and then she’s sweeping off, trailing joy in her wake. John finds himself shaking his head over just how cute she is, and when he glances at Diaval, he’s still watching Aurora go, a soft fondness all over his sharp features. John is unwaveringly sure that Aurora will grow into an excellent queen.

Diaval takes a minute to look back at him, and that leaves the two of them in a patient silence with no real reason to be there. There are many things John could ask, feel compelled to ask, now that he knows what Diaval is—what do the Moors need? What’s it like to be a bird? What was the princess like as a child?—but all of them seem to overstep their fresh acquaintance. Diaval looks at him too, with that same restrained expression. John is the one to clear his throat first and offer, “I apologize.” At Diaval’s mild look of surprise, John elaborates, “For my efforts against your home during the king’s reign.” He’s apologized to the princess, to Maleficent, but it still doesn’t erase his burden. 

Diaval shakes his head and says firmly, “It isn’t your fault. Stefan twisted everything. And I... I saw the reluctance in you.” Which leaves John feeling unevenly matched; for all the recognition, he doesn’t know anything of Diaval, and apparently Diaval knows quite a bit about him. He was never overt with his disapproval of the king’s rule. 

He finds himself asking, “Just how much of me did you see?”

Diaval visibly bristles. His shoulders tense, and John would take the words back, but it’s too late now. “Only what was necessary to protect Maleficent.” Though John is sure he saw the raven in his window at times of no importance too. 

In an effort to not make Diaval more uncomfortable—though it is a subject he’d like to touch on when he can, this business of shifting into an animal form, of fitting so seamlessly into John’s life before he even knew it—John says, “I’m glad we’re on the same side now. I’ll be protecting her too.” Then he thinks and adds, “Though I admit I haven’t been to your kingdom yet, and I’m... I’m not quire sure exactly what I’m dealing with.”

Diaval’s lips have fallen into a very small frown, and he asks quietly, “Would you come see it with me?”

John answers, “I would like that,” before he’s even had a chance to think. 

Diaval looks like he’s going to say more. Maybe to explain his invitation, offer details, tell John the purpose of such a gesture, but then his head jerks sharply aside, and John gets the impression that Diaval’s hearing something not meant for mortal ears. A second later, he snaps back to life, and he tells John, frowning deeper, “Maleficent wants me. I’ll... I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” John nods and, with a small, inescapable smile, adds, “And if you come in your other form, I will be sure to open the window for you.”

Diaval grins, and for a moment, the sheepishness ebbs away. Whatever guilt he has over watching John, John doesn’t need it. He bows to Diaval first, determined to make his parting impression as good as the first hopefully was. He feels vaguely like he should’ve shaved, washed up, before this meeting, but it’s too late now. And he should know better than to try and match beauty with something of magic, anyway. 

Diaval walks away, black cloak gliding out behind him, not unlike John’s. Until he turns the corner, John stands there to watch, more interested than he probably should be.

The good princess is always full of surprises.


End file.
